Before I Burn With Envy
by Scriptor Bellum
Summary: REWRITE OF PURGATORIO. In the Circles of Hell, the world's sinners are punished. Before that, they are sent to Purgatory, where they are given the chance to repent. O Monster Envy, tell me – what shall you do with that chance? Envy redemption and Envy-centric. Eventual Envy/OC, not the story's full focus. Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own!


**WHEW, OKAY. So, after the _longest_ time away from writing for FMA...  
**

**... I wanted to take a crack at rewriting my old Envy redemption fic, Purgatorio. :)**

**It's now called Terrace, and you're going to be reading it now! Lucky you! Or _lucky me!_ Haha!**

**Alrighty, so, let me get some preliminary stuff out of the way here so that we can get to the story.**

**1) The universe I write in here is a mixture of the 2003 anime and the Brotherhood anime! It draws more from Brotherhood than the 2003 anime, but there are a _lot_ of cues taken from the 2003 anime as well. The plan is for everything to reveal itself and make sense as the story goes on, but if something doesn't sound quite right to you, it's probably because of the mixed universes, and hopefully will make sense soon!**

**2) Envy in my headcanon is sexless (unless they've shapeshifted into having, uh, parts down there, haha) and genderfluid. In this fic, Envy will be referred to with they, he, _and_ (not quite as frequently) she pronouns. "They" will probably used most of the time, but "he" and "she" will both be used as well at different points.**

**3) Some other characters will call Envy "they", but will also use "he" and "she" for Envy. Personally I don't consider this misgendering, because Envy (again, at least in my headcanon) considers themselves as all genders and will accept being called anything. Sometimes they'll let people know "hey, use 'they' for me till I say different", but most of the time they're just not too fussed about what other people refer to them as. _However,_ if this strikes you as misgendering and/or simply aren't comfortable with it, consider this a warning! Don't read on if you're not going to be comfortable with it. *heart hands***

**4) In the same vein: Envy will sometimes be referred to as "it" by other characters, always in an attempt to dehumanize or humiliate them. (Dehumanize? De-Homnculus-ize? Bah, you know what I mean.) It will be made VERY clear that this is a bad thing, that it's not acceptable, and that it is one of the cruelest things you can do to a person. DO NOT. _DO NOT. EVER. CALL A PERSON "IT"._**

**5) I'm working on a _very_ rudimentary version of the Ishvalan language (at the very least, bits and pieces that I'll be using in this fic). At a couple points, Ed refers to my OC Mara (the woman who hurries her subordinates off to their rooms and brings Ed into the story) as "Illah Mara". In my version of the Ishvalan language, "Illah" is a title for an Ishvalan priestess, considered a respectful form of address comparable to "Sister" for a Catholic nun.**

**6) This fic will have heavy themes of abuse and conditioning, suicide/suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation, possible self-harm, torture, body horror, messed-up thought processes, and gaslighting. If any of that makes you uncomfortable or isn't your thing, don't read it. I'll give more warnings at the beginning of a chapter if something is going to be especially heinous, but this is the main warning.**

**7) I'm not excusing Envy's actions in the past - or any current fuck-ups they may (and probably will) make. I don't condone what they've done. They've got plenty of punishment coming, both physical and emotional. My main hope is to get y'all to a point where it becomes "okay, _maybe_ they've had enough" and "good, they're changing".**

**8) Be prepared for twists and turns, kiddos. Buckle up 'cause it's gonna be a wild ride!**

**Okay... I think that's everything at least for the first chapter!**

**Alrighty! So, with all of that out of the way, and if you'd still like to read this fic...**

**Please, enjoy! And make sure to review, please!**

* * *

_Take a look at my body; look at my hands  
There's so much here that I don't understand  
Your face-saving promises, whispered like prayers  
I don't need them  
'Cause I've been treated so wrong – I've been treated so long  
As if I'm becoming untouchable  
Well, content loves the silence; it thrives in the dark  
With fine-winding tendrils that strangle that strangle the heart  
They say that promises sweeten the blow  
But I don't need them  
No, I don't need them  
I've been treated so wrong; I've been treated so long  
As if I'm becoming untouchable  
I'm a slow-dying flower; I'm the frost-killing hour  
Sweet turning sour and untouchable  
Oh, I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness  
Oh, I need this  
I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel, sweet love of my life  
__**Oh, I need this.**__  
–"My Skin", Natalie Merchant_

* * *

All they can see is darkness.

Darkness and fire and blood and _God, everything burns._

Their instinct is to curl up into a ball, immediately, to try and make themselves as small as they can. Even then they feel panicked, anxious, vulnerable.

They try to close their eyes, only to find that they aren't open in the first place. Every twitch they try to make with them results in a flash of pain. It feels like several cold, sharp, smooth little objects are embedded in their eyelids. That thought makes them feel sick.

For at least a few minutes – or hours? Or longer than that, maybe – they can't remember anything. Who are they? Where are they? Why can't they see, and why is their entire body throbbing in agony?

It feels like there's sun beating down on them, and wind whipping around them, and sand digging itself into… open wounds? Are there open wounds on every inch of their skin? That's what it feels like. That doesn't make any sense to them. What the hell is going on?

There are too many questions and not nearly enough answers. They want to cry.

They're not sure how long they stay curled inside themselves, thinking, wheezing, question after question running wild through their mind. All they know is that when the memories start to come back to them, they don't come slowly.

Memories come one right after another in a frenzied flood. They're left more confused.

They're a Homunculus, the oldest of a group of seven. Probably a semi-failed human transmutation, as they can recall. The details are a little fuzzy. They do know that they were a disappointment from birth to death.

_Envy._ That's their name.

Pure, unbridled sin. A constant bundle of jealousy and hate straining at the seams of any body they wore.

That's all they've ever been since the very moment their Father brought them into this world to serve him. Envy. It's ugly.

_I'm ugly,_ is the foremost thought they can bring themselves to muster.

Every horrible thing they've ever done flashes before them, and there are a lot of horrible things they've done. There are so many that they lose count.

One of the worst is when they assumed the form of a soldier, shot a child, started a war, and then _talked about it like it was the best experience of their life._

With each memory, they grow more disgusted with themselves.

Then they remember who they are.

They're a monster.

It's not a surprise that **monsters do monstrous things,** is it?

The memories are all too much. Their entire life flashes before their eyes, and it's long. They've lived through so many years.

The entirety of their past culminates in a swirling tempest of anger, humiliation, and despair as they pulled their own Philosopher's Stone from their insides and crushed it to dust. Feeling it all over again is torture.

Someone exposed them. Someone unraveled their entire identity, someone _understood them,_ and their reaction was to kill themselves.

It almost makes them want to die all over again. Shame resonates through them from the center of their being; that in response to what should be a good thing, that someone actually saw through their rage to the broken person they really were, instead of taking it as an opportunity to grow and confront their envious nature, they collapsed in on themselves like a black hole. They let their pain consume them and swallow up any scrap of redemption they could have possibly had.

Why did they do that? Obviously they always clung to some deep self-loathing, but until that point, they never wanted to _die._

Their hands reach up, shaking, fingertips pressing at their eyes. It's still not clear what's wrong with them. They can't see, they have no idea why, and they don't even know where they are.

Part of their memory is missing, too. How are they alive? What happened that they aren't irrevocably _dead?_ What kind of body are they in? It doesn't feel like the form they're used to, not entirely. The hair is too short, they don't feel unbearably heavy, and whatever they're wearing, it isn't their preferred outfit at all. A tentative, weak, "Hey… is anyone there…?," proves that their voice is still the same, albeit raspier than ever, probably thanks to their new body.

They try to move, but it's too hard to do more than shift themselves into a sitting position. Something is against their back, so they lean to use it as support. A wall, maybe? They have no idea where exactly they are. Is it Amestris, or somewhere else?

Their eyes haven't stopped hurting. It feels like white-hot needles have been shoved all the way through to the backs of their sockets. No matter what kind of move they make with their eyes, they won't open, and it doesn't let up. This is worse than when the Colonel boiled their eyes out of their skull several times over before their death.

When they swallow, they find that their throat is thick and sore. They do their best to breathe, focusing on that; a few breaths in, they can't focus anymore. Discomfort is pulsing through their entire body, blood rushing past their ears, exhaustion settling into their bones.

Those thoughts snap them to attention. _Wait a second._

They're a Homunculus, aren't they? That means they shouldn't have all these injuries. Homunculi are resilient, invincible, god-like. Before, any injury that Envy sustained would fix itself within seconds – or minutes, if it were something that should have been fatal.

Whatever happened to make these wounds, they should have been healed by now.

"So why the hell," they hiss as their fingers wander over their various cuts, "_are they __**still here?!**_"

The only reply they get is a gentle breeze that ghosts more grains of sand across their open wounds.

Fair enough, they suppose.

They're not quite sure how long they sit here like this. After a while, they start to cry. It's almost silent, sobs ripping at their throat in an attempt to be free, and absolutely unmistakable. Tears roll down their cheeks to compound their suffering – saltwater washing into the gashes on their face.

It's hopeless. _Hopeless._

What beats inside their chest is no longer the constant, unstoppable, weighted thrum of compressed human souls. They aren't healing instantly. There's a churning feeling in their stomach that points to something being very, very wrong.

The more they think, the more mortified they become. Even though they're not sure what happened to bring them back to life, something did, and in that process… somehow, they feel as if they've lost everything that made them a Homunculus. So what the hell are they now? A human?

God, they don't want that. Just imagining how they must look, useless and crying in the dirt, human, makes their skin crawl.

_Jealous of humans? Sure. But that doesn't mean I want to __**be **__one!_

How did this happen? Why is that the only part of their memory that isn't coming to them? Despite knowing who they are now, all they have are more questions instead of any answers.

They slam their fist down, unsure of what they'll find but too frustrated to care. What they connect with turns out to be solid rock. The action elicits a yelp, then Envy brings their bruised fingers close against their chest. "Fucking… damn it…" They're still crying, unable to stop, as they bring their knees up to their chest as well. The urge to ball up and tuck themselves away from anyone or anything overwhelms their being.

Folded in on themselves like this, however, is the closest they can seem to get. Even now, the pain is hardly bearable.

They didn't _want_ to die.

But if this is going to be their life now, they're not all that sure they want to _live,_ either.

Envy stays in this position for what feels like a long time. They're tired and they don't know if they can move without their sight and everything hurts anyway.

Time blurs together. Each moment is just as excruciating as the last. As soon as they catch themselves thinking things like, _I'm not going to make it,_ they mentally smack themselves into shape – reminding themselves that they survived the minute before, so they can survive the next minute, too. If they don't take time in small chunks like that, it truly _would_ be too much for them.

Their thoughts turn from memories to contemplation of their future, which is probably just as bad as looking back on their past.

What are they looking forward to? What are they hoping to survive until? Until someone finds them?

If some random human finds them, they'll either be forced to move even though they have nowhere to go, or they'll be put to work even though they've been blinded.

If someone like the military finds them, they'll be executed on the spot.

In this state, as angry as they would be, they aren't nearly strong enough to stop any of it from happening.

They're not sure how long it takes; eventually, they hear bare feet on the ground and whispers of voices. They aren't concentrating enough to make out everything, but they do catch a few words.

"… doing there? … A man or a woman…?"

"… No, don't! … Tell Mara…"

"He's hurt–"

"Or she?"

"… Hopeless… go, go!"

The voices fall hushed, followed by more shuffling, and a new, feminine voice. This one they can fully understand, because she only speaks two sentences.

"Go into the other room and lock the door, but don't worry. I will find someone to take care of this."

The bare feet plod away quickly, and the woman's heeled shoes click in the opposite direction.

Envy is frozen in place by fear. Where is she going? Who's she getting? Why didn't she just 'take care' of them herself? What the hell does she even mean by that? Did she go to find someone to shoot them in the head or something?

They're going to die. They're going to die alone and weak, in some desert in the middle of nowhere, without even being able to see their executioner.

They start to sob again, and this time, the cries scratch their throat as they're let loose. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" Was having their perfect body burned to ash a thousand times over and wrenching their Stone from their ugly body not enough? Do they really have to go through it again?

That would be it, too. No matter how they're alive right now, if they die, it's going to stick this time.

They're still blubbering to themselves when the woman comes back, and she's accompanied by two more pairs of footsteps. It sounds like she stops a few feet away, not wanting to approach too closely. "Here. We found him this morning, but it looks like he's been sitting here for a while." Her voice is quiet and even, but crisp. "A few days, maybe. Normally I would help myself… it's just… he doesn't look Ishvalan, and he doesn't look Amestrian, either. I thought maybe you might know where he could possibly be from and how he wound up here."

"Please don't kill me," Envy wails before either of the other people speak. "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die…"

A small gasp meets their ears, despite their distress. "Brother! Is it just me or… does he sound like…"

"_Envy._" The voice is one they recognize as Edward Elric – the very person who picked apart the knot of their entire being in less than ten words. He sounds mature and experienced, yet his voice retains all the qualities they remember about him. Footsteps shuffle, one heavier than the other, and it's obvious that those are his. They can feel him coming closer. "Is… is that you? Envy?"

The manage to lift their head, and there are tears still trickling down their cheeks. It hurts. Not to mention that they don't want him seeing them this unguarded. He already tore apart who they are; why should he get _more_ of their insecurity? "Yes…" Their breath is coming in ragged gasps. Although they're trying to keep themselves from crying more, it's not very effective. That's all they want to do right now. "What… are you… doing here? _Leave me alone…_ I don't want to die…!"

A gloved hand sets itself on their shoulder, gentle despite everything. "Hey, hey, hey. What the hell is wrong with you?! We're not gonna kill you!" His hand stays, although his voice turns away from them slightly. "Illah Mara, you said you just found him here today?"

"Yes," the woman speaks up. "Two of my disciples came to collect the rainwater, and found him here." Confusion creeps its way into her tone. "Do you know him?"

"Yeah, but… he should be dead. He's been dead for almost ten years." To his credit, Edward's voice is also full of confusion. There's more there, of course. He sounds bitter and bewildered and almost pitying. _Great._ That's definitely not what Envy needed or wanted. "The last time we saw him, he'd just ripped out his Philosopher's Stone and faded away into nothing."

"But this is a human." The woman doesn't sound any less mystified than she did a moment ago. "Humans don't have Philosopher's Stones inside them. And even if he were a – Homunculus, is that what they're called? And he… killed himself…" Her voice falters on those words, lingering in her mouth, as if she doesn't want to say them. "How is he alive now? You bore witness to that, I take it? You know it really, truly happened?"

"Yeah, I was there. I saw it. He… he died." It becomes apparent that the hand on their shoulder is Edward's, though they guessed that much before. "Envy, how are you alive again? Have you been alive this whole time? If you pulled some dirty trick, I swear–"

The other voice, the one Envy knows as Edward's younger brother Alphonse, joins the conversation. "He can't have been alive this whole time, Ed. It's been _ten years._ We would have known. Besides, if he's human now… I-I mean, none of this makes sense. Why would he just sit here and let someone find him? How would he have gotten all the way to Ishval? He looks like he can barely stand! He looks like he's stayed in one spot, and like he hasn't been eating…"

Everyone is silent for a moment, and the only sound is the stream of Envy's sobbing that they're trying to get under control.

Finally, Edward lets out a deep sigh that doesn't seem to fully express his frustration with this. "Okay. Illah Mara, Al and I will take it from here. Go make sure your disciples aren't too shaken up, and continue your day as normal." Then he turns his attention back to the former Homunculus as the woman's footsteps fade away. "Envy? Envy, are you listening to me? I have some questions, and I need you to pay attention."

"Listening…" Envy's almost got their crying reined in, and most of it now is confined to sharp gasps as they attempt to regulate their breathing. Their Homunculus body might have been capable of going without oxygen, but in this body, that lack gives the distinct impression that their lungs are on fire.

Having had their lungs actually on fire, they can say they really aren't fond of that sensation.

"What happened to you?" is the first thing he asks. "How are you alive?"

They shake their head. "I… I don't know…" Raising their arm to rub their tears away hurts like hell, and it leaves them shaking. Do they really not have enough strength for that? Evidently they manage to even screw up rubbing salt into their own wounds. "When I woke up like this… I didn't remember anything about my life or death. Now I remember everything… except how I'm not dead." Their eyebrows knit together in anger. "If you're looking for answers as to that, I don't _have any._"

A thoughtful hum comes from Edward's voice, and Alphonse clears his throat. "Don't push it too much, brother. If he doesn't know, he doesn't know. And if he's lying, he's not going to decide to tell the truth just because you press the issue."

Envy is already being branded a potential liar. Not that they blame Alphonse, but they don't know whether to laugh or start crying again.

"Yeah… you're right. Pressing it would probably just make him clam up, if anything." Edward gives another sigh. "Okay, Envy. How long have you been here? Have you been alive all this time or not?"

"I'm… not sure." Although they undoubtedly know how to tell time, their inability to see and general distress have ensured that they really have no idea how long they've been sitting here, alive and suffering. "I-I mean," they quickly clarify, "I know I haven't been alive all this time. It's… a few days? Less than a week, I… I can't see… I can't tell…"

Alphonse squeaks softly. "Oh, Ed! Look at his eyes!"

Immediately, Envy's hand reaches up toward their face. They aren't sure what happened to their eyes, or what state they're in right now. "What – what is wrong… _with my eyes?_"

"Oh, my God." Edward's hand moves to Envy's cheek, pushing their own fingers away and earning him a muted growl. "Whoa, hey. Calm down. I just want to see what… wow. Yeah…" He sounds horrified, his voice shaking now. "Envy, your eyes… they've been sewn shut. With… with metal wire, it looks like. You… didn't do this to yourself, did you?"

Envy has to bite their lip to keep from bursting into tears all over again. Is that why their eyes keep stinging while they cry, and why they hurt so much? That would certainly explain it. But who the hell who do something like that? Who would sew their eyes shut with metal wire, cover every inch of their body in wounds, and then just leave them to fend for themselves? And why? And how?

Why don't they have any _answers?_

"Do you really think I would do this to myself?!" is all they can bring themselves to say in response to this information.

Edward lets out a sound of indignation. "Well, excuse me for thinking so, because you've already killed yourself once!"

Envy can't deny that, of course. So instead of starting an argument they know they won't win, they sob, shoulders slumping. They want to curl up like they were before. "My eyes… oh, God, I want to die! Just _leave me to die…!_"

"We're not going to do that!" Alphonse pipes up. He pauses, and neither man says anything for a few seconds. Then he speaks again. "But, um, Ed… what _are_ we going to do? I mean, he's not the best person, sure, but we can't just leave him here…"

Silence blankets the three of them for what seems like a long time to Envy. It makes them nervous, prickling at the back of their neck like the feeling of being watched. Memories and the present swirl together, and they feel boxed in. Absolutely they can't just leave Envy here; and yet, the possibilities of what the brothers might do instead make Envy's new blood run cold.

Imprisonment? Torture? Execution?

What's worse, Envy is sure they wouldn't blame anyone for doing any combination of those things.

Their stomach churns. The fact that they haven't eaten or drank anything is quite possibly the only reason they don't bend over and vomit.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Edward's hand moves away from Envy's face, which gives them the barest sense of peace.

The Fullmetal Alchemist takes a deep breath, and what he says next takes away the scrap of peace he just gave them.

"We're taking him back to Central. _Now._"


End file.
